Heat is on

Well, fucking FINE.

I usually enjoy summer, but this heat is starting to make me crazy. Constant record breaking heat and humidity (and if you live on the prairie, you are no wussie pants about heat and humidity, but this is RIDICULOUS) and no end in sight. The weather forecasters keep smiling sheepishly and telling us that this heat wave has no end in sight yet.

And I'm one of the lucky ones. I work in a building that is so over air conditioned that I dress in warm clothes every day. I always have a sweater or two in my closet at work to put on when I get too cold.

We just invested in central air conditioning for our home. It is an old, old Victorian (1918) and huge, so we had to actually invest in two central air units, one in our basement and one in our attic. One to cool the downstairs and one to cool the upstairs. I am still shuddering from how much this cost and how my poor house was ripped up. I just felt sorry for her, silly, I know. It was like they were ripping up all of her prettiness. And for what? Because we were tired of air conditioning window units. Tired of having one room feel like a meat locker, while the adjoining rooms had less and less coolness.

Now, it is all in place and we are arguing about where to set the thermostat. I say 76. Bing says 80. We are compromising on 78. Too hot for me, too expensive for her. And when I see the new monthly bill, I just may agree to putting the thermostat on 80. Plus...in this heat, it runs almost as continuously as the window units. To those of you with central air...what do you set your dial on?

I feel like such a weakling. I grew up in a farmhouse without air conditioning until I was in junior high. And then my mother bought ONE unit to be turned on in the dining room to protect our aged antique dining room table. During the summer, we lived in that room. I would sit at that table and read. When I left school, I lived in dorms and apartments that did not have air conditioning, so I just learned to endure.

My first air conditioned home was purchased when I was 27. And since then, I have always had a/c. I have no business complaining about this heat when I am so, so lucky.

But, this summer is broiling hot and humid and it leaves me thinking about my ancestors. Albeit, they lived in Ireland, where the summer was nothing like these prairie ones. I once knew a woman from Norway who was in a few of my classes in med school and she used to just wilt in this prairie heat, said she had no idea why we chose to live here in Hades.

But, think about all those pioneers who lived here, worked the land. God, to be SO hot and then not even have ICE to cool you off! And only one bath a week! The smells emitting from those log cabins must have been downright ripe in the summer! 

High heat and humidity take the spirit right out of you. Leave you sitting like a wet noodle.

And sometimes doing without something after you've gotten used to it is right next to impossible. When I was little, I didn't have the experience of a/c, so I just acclimated to the heat. Now, when I go outside and my glasses fog up from the heat and humid air, I instantly feel crabby.

It's only the end of June and I am hungry for a Autumn breeze.

I think I need to take some advice from my dear departed Irish mother:

Buck up and quit yer bawlin'!

That was her answer for her children who complained. She would call us Annies or complaining Susans. She had an aunt named Annie who constantly complained (or mewled as my mother would say) and a cousin named Susan who did plenty of bitching and moaning. I learned from an early age not to whine.

Which is a good thing since I have a really hard time dealing with whiny people.

And yet, I sit here whining in a blog.

So...how is your summer going? Are you steadfast and sturdy in the heat? Or weak and um...MEWLISH?

Or somewhere in between?

thoughtful question #2

What is something that is not fair?

That the squeaky wheel gets the grease.

I've noticed this more and more as I age. People who stand in line patiently are NOT rewarded. But the customer who loudly complains and starts making a fuss? They get instant attention.

Same thing everywhere. My daughter is currently taking a math class. One of her classmates is a very smart girl but she is disruptive and strongly needs undivided attention. Liv says that the class goes on pause at least four times a session so that the instructor can attend to this one child.

When I am in traffic, it never fails to astonish me that someone will lay on his/her horn when the person in front of them has no choice. There is a pedestrian, etc. and what would you like them to do, honker? Run them over? But, you can bet that the SECOND it is clear the person in front of them will hurriedly move.

I am not fond of squeaky wheels.

Thoughtful question #1

Kind of blocked. This happens to me every summer, it seems. The weather gets hot (supposed to be 104 degrees today, ugh) and I sort of get lazy and wilted.

So, for a few days...let's do thoughtful questions.

This will maybe get you shy ones who read but never comment (100's) to maybe put something out there and enable me to get to know you all better.

The important thing to me: BE HONEST.

Question of the day: What two things do you need to be happy?

Okay, if I were a liar, I'd say world peace and no prejudice.

Truthfully, though?

1) Good health
2) Enough money to be comfortable

I've had good health and I've had bad health and I can assure you that it is absolutely true that if you have your health, you pretty much have what you need to be happy.

And I don't care about money not buying happiness. It buys food and shelter.

There are other things, sure.

A job that makes you happy.
A happy family.

But, for me...if I have those two things covered, I'm pretty well set.

How about y'all?

We're listening reading.....

What makes your relationship work?

Chloe came to visit us this weekend. She's home from New York, where she lives with her partner of nearly 8 years, Ross. I met Chloe when she was a baby. Her father, Connor, and I were residents together in Baltimore. Connor and her mother are no longer together, but Connor still lives in Baltimore and practices. Her mother, surprisingly, ended up in Council Bluffs, Iowa which is just a river away from where I live. I admit that I don't stay in touch with either her father or her mother, but Chloe and I were friends from the first day that her father came over to my apartment to practice tracheal intubation (it is SO much harder than it looks on television) and brought her with him. I had a practice doll and when we were done practicing and enjoying wine, Chloe, who was about 9 months at the time, had lots of fun rolling around on the life size medical doll.

Connor and I stayed in touch for a long while after I moved back to the prairie. Whenever I was near his home place, I'd call him and we often arranged to go to the same seminars just to catch up with each other. He'd sometimes bring Chloe with him or if I was near Baltimore, I'd stop and have dinner with him and Chloe. By that time, he was divorced and had nearly sole custody of Chloe. His ex had her for the summers. I always liked Chloe. Thought she was smart and funny. When she hit her teens, she began having some drug problems, so ended up moving in with her mother and step father in Council Bluffs. Connor re-married and we lost touch, gradually our phone calls lessened and we were down to just Christmas cards and then, eventually, those ceased too. But, Chloe stayed in touch with me during her teen years and when she went to college in Michigan. And when she landed a dream marketing job for a book publishing company in New York, I was her third phone call, after her parents.

She and Ross met in college and have settled into a gorgeous brownstone in Harlem. They lead New Yorker's lives now, take the subway together in the mornings to her job at the publishing company and his at an insurance company. They both travel a lot for work and whenever I am in New York, they meet me at different restaurants, trying to broaden my food tastes. The last time I was there, we had sushi, the time before that Cuban food and before that, Brazilian fare. Liv has met Chloe and has a huge big sister crush on her. Bing likes her too, thinks she has a great wit. We all like Ross, her partner, a quiet, shy man who seems to dote on volatile, vibrant Chloe. 

But, Chloe was somber when she called me a week ago to say that she would be in Council Bluffs to visit her mother. She asked if I would do her tarot cards for her, something that she's always loved and I don't mind doing for her. I said sure.

We sat in my dining room this weekend, sipping iced green tea and ate cherries, comfortably spitting the pits into a side bowl. I asked her if Ross had come with her and her face clouded.

"No," she said. "That's why I'm visiting my mother this week. I told him that I needed a little break from him. Things...are...well...not great," she admitted.

I let it go, not wanting to violate her privacy when she didn't say anything else. Later, as I laid out the tarot card spread, the cards indicated that she had some serious relationship problems to work out. We talked more then.

"I'm 28 now," she said. "I'm not sure that I want to have children, but I think it's time that Ross and I married. It would be a good way to blend our families and we've been living together for 8 years. If only for tax reasons, it works," she said. "But when I brought it up to him, he said that we shouldn't mess up a good thing and since we don't want kids, why bother?"

Her face clouded.

"I guess," she said, haltingly, "I just want to feel like we are sharing the journey together and what is so terrible about marrying? I mean, unless...he's unsure if he wants to stay with me. He says that isn't the case, but he doesn't want either of us to feel trapped. He's afraid that marriage might make him feel that way."

I finished the reading. Not sure if she was happy. The cards won't tell you what to do. They just tell you what you need to see to make a good decision.

As we continued talking about other things, Chloe smiled as I showed her some photos of Liv, who she only saw fleetingly, before she went out swimming with friends. 

"When you were my age, did you want to be a mother?" she asked.

I laughed. "GOD, NO!" I blurted. "I didn't want to be anyone's mother until I was about 38 and then suddenly, it hit me like a ton of bricks. I used to laugh and roll my eyes when someone would say that their biological clock started ticking, but mine didn't just tick. It was like a fire alarm. And now? You know, parenting is so much harder than you think it will be, but I can't think of anything that brings out the best in you more. I am a much better person because I am Liv's mother. I can attest to that. "

Chloe nodded slowly. "I'm still not sure about wanting a child," she admitted.

I told her that she had to follow her heart. Some people should be parents, some should NEVER be parents and some learn to be parents.

"How about Bing?" she asked. "Are you sure you want to stay with her?"

I was thoughtful for a moment and then said, "You know, I never thought I would say this about anyone, but I just know that she is the one for me, you know? I just feel it so deeply, right here." I put my hand on my heart. "I came to love late, just like I came to parenting late, but I can now say with complete surety that Bing and Liv are my family, my life, my everything and I would not change a thing. Not one iota."

Chloe laughed. "Dad always said that you were a complete loner, that you would end up married to your work."

I smiled back. "Your Dad knew me when I was really young and really, really confused. I was such a Peter Pan back then about love. But, you know, I am really, really happy now. Settled. Content. I love being committed to someone and love being a parent. Maybe you will be like that too, maybe not. You know, it's no crime not to marry. Bing and I aren't married."

Chloe looked intently at me. "If you could marry, would you?"

I sighed. "If marriage was that important to us, we could marry in Iowa, Chloe. Bing and I are married, just not legally. Our commitment to each other is total. She and I are each other's family. Do you feel as if you and Ross are each other's family?"

She nodded. "I do."

"Than why get all bent out of shape about marriage vows?"

She nodded again, agreeing.

"Tell me how you feel about Bing, what makes you secure," she said.

Instead of talking, I got up and found my trusty Walt Whitman. I paged until I found the quote I was looking for. Showed it to her.

"Read the last paragraph," I said to her. "It says it all."

Camerado, I give you my hand!
I give you my love more precious than money,
I give you myself before preaching or law;
Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?


From Song Of The Open Road by Walt Whitman.

She read it slowly and then handed it back to me. As she finished, Bing came in. Asked us what we were reading. Chloe showed the words to Bing, explained that this was how I said I felt about her. Bing read it and grinned.

"So," Chloe said, "Do you have a quote to show me about how you feel about Maria?"

Bing shook her head. "I'm not the reader that she is. But, you know what? At the end of the day, Maria is my soft place to land. That is how I see her."

I turned Bing's palm over and kissed it.

Chloe visited with us a little longer. We talked about politics, her parents, her job and other mundane topics. And then it was time for her to go meet her mother and step father for dinner.

I walked her to the door, our arms around each other's waist. Kissed her cheek.

She hugged me at the door, keeping her head on my shoulder a long while. Finally she said, "Thanks for picking me back up and dusting me off, Maria," she said.

"Oh, honey, it was my pleasure," I told her. "Don't worry so much. Just be you and let Ross be Ross. It will all come out in the wash. My mother used to say that. That eventually, everything would all come out in the wash."

I watched her walk out to her mother's car that she'd borrowed for the day, her hair shining in the sun. She'd find her way, just as we all do. Some weeks, some months are harder than others. But, we all eventually find our destination.

I found mine. She'd find hers, either with Ross or without him.

But, it made me think. I have a question for all of you. Think about your relationship, your marriage, your love, present or past.

What defines it, makes it click, makes it run smoothly or jaggedly...or whatever.

What makes  or made it worthwhile?

I'm curious.

Last game of the season

Last night was Liv's last softball game. It had been rained out twice, so the girls were chewing at the bit, ready to go.

Liv's friend, Andrea, was chosen to pitch the last game. If it stung, Liv wasn't saying. She, Andrea and Abby have been taking turns pitching all season and they were all about equal in talent. When Andrea was chosen, Abby took her place at first base and Liv at third. No complaints.

Bing and I sat in our lawn chairs, watching. Bing's back was hurting and she squirmed, trying to last the entire game. As usual, the evening was very warm, the sun in our eyes, boring down on our faces and necks. Bing pulled out her umbrella, but I let the rays wash over me. Part of the deal, I decided, with softball and swim meets. That hot sun always bearing down hard and unrelenting.

Liv is a serious player. About half of her team is and half not. The ones who aren't spend their time in the dugout giggling and listening to each other's ipods. Liv and the other serious players, watch intently, calling out encouragement and gripping the wire fencing with their fingers, anxious.

We were playing what Liv called "a poof team", girls who were more aware of how they looked in their uniforms than how they played. We had beat them before by a wide margin.

But, in this last tournament, it seemed that the poof team had suddenly gone dead serious. This time, they were more coached and less prone to show each other dance moves in the dugout or slip away to grab a beef jerky from the concession stand.

The girls on Liv's team held on to a 3 point lead until the last inning when the poof team suddenly scored two home runs with bases loaded and was then 4 points ahead. We had one more chance to win, but had to get five runs in. We had done it before and this team was not strong on their outfield.

One by one the girls went up to bat. Their pitcher, who was mediocre at best, suddenly seemed to come into her stride, striking out two of Liv's teammates in a row. It was Liv's turn to bat and my stomach was clenched. I knew hers was too. She did not want to be the last out, the one to lose the game. Strike one. Strike two. Ball one. Ball two. Ball three. And then, whew.....ball four and Liv walked to first. The pitcher threw the ball to the next girl up and Liv took off for second base, hell bent on getting there, no matter what. She made it. And then the bases were loaded. Liv on third. The bat cracked and the girls ran, Liv made it home and then the girl on second and first. The girl who had hit so well, decided to try for a home run.

And was put out as she ran for home. The game was over. We had lost by 2 points.

The season was over. No more practices on sultry Thursday nights and Sunday afternoons. No more cleets on Liv's slender ballerina feet. We walked to the car. I glanced over at Liv to see how she was handling it all. She looked placid. I asked her if she was upset. Not really, she said. There was always next year.

Next year.

I wondered what she would be like next year. Last year, she had been an anxious almost 7th grader, nervous about letting her grade school days at Montessori go. Not sure if she was ready for junior high. Next year, she would be getting ready for high school.

High school. Who'da thunk it? Funny, it isn't as if I am an idiot. I mean, all those days when I was changing diapers and making fish sticks for her lunch, I knew that one day she would be in high school.

But, it still surprises me.

Like it surprises me how damn SMART she is already. She requested to take three summer classes at our local university this summer, designed for junior high kids. One was a class on astronomy, another on string theory for math. And then there was her last pick: a class on the study of DNA.

Leave it to my Hermione girl to have little interest in the other classes that her peers were interested in: Irish step dancing, Elizabethan acting, calligraphy, or still life drawing.

She laughed when I asked her if she would be interested in dance classes. She has had one dance class in her life and it was a flop. When she was six, I signed her up for ballet and she detested it. She told me later that she would consider jazz dance, but NO MORE BALLET.

She took one class of beginner's acting when she was 8. Thought it was stupid.

She nixed art of any kind, except for a conceptual string art class that she thought sounded kind of interesting.

After that, I left it up to her. Take any class or no class. Her choice. She usually chose swim team and maybe one class in some sort of science.

This year, she chose three classes. Actually four, if you count her basketball one, a two day mini course designed to improve her basketball skills.

She is just finishing up her class in DNA and I am a little in awe of her. In the car on the way home, she talks about complimentary base sequences, the idea of a double helix, crystal lattices (which I stupidly thought had somehow to do with doilies) and she is now fixated on something called DNA origami method, which I haven't asked about in depth, but I doubt has anything to do with those little origami cranes she used to make when she was bored.

I told Bing that when I drive her home, I feel as dumb as a doorknob. She confessed that she went and googled all of Liv's references so that she could talk semi-intelligently to her about them. I wish I had thought of that instead of smiling vacantly and hoping that I didn't give my ignorance away.

But, as we drove home from the game and Liv sat quietly in the back seat, punching her new glove, we passed a Dairy Queen and she piped up, "Is it okay if we stop so that I can get a cone with sprinkles?"

I felt a sense of still having my little girl. Bing and I exchanged parental glances and agreed to stop. And then after we got home, when Liv curled up on the floor with Socks and watched King of The Hill with him, I felt even better. And later that night when she and I went outside for one last check of the vegetables and she began singing softly,

Oh my darling, oh my darling...oh my darling Clementine....

well....my heart relaxed.

We still have time. We still have time. We still have time with our little girl.

Honey...that toothpaste tastes weird...

I woke up this morning early to take Liv to her swim practice. I went into the bathroom and sleepily squirted out a dollop of toothpaste on my toothbrush and started brushing. And then...spit it out quickly.

Bing likes to buy our toothpaste at Whole Foods. She gets all natural toothpaste. In fruit flavors. So far, I've like the orange the best. But, I decided that the new blueberry one she picked out was awful and told her so.

"What blueberry toothpaste? I bought the orange again. Not blueberry."

I rolled my eyes and went in and retrieved the toothpaste to show her. Held it up. Acted kind of snotty, really.

And then she sat there trying not to laugh. At 6:30 a.m. I glared at her.

She finally spoke.

"Um...honey, look carefully at what is in your hand."

So, well...I did.


OHHHHH.




It looks EXACTLY like our toothpaste. Well, except that it says something about age refreshing blueberries. But...it was um...EARLY.

Well, at least my teeth are feeling very refreshed......

Summertime, when the living is easy

Liv's last softball game is tonight.  If it doesn't get rained out.

And I confess that I am mostly glad to be done with the games. Mostly because she is on a swim team as well and I feel as if I'm either driving her to practices or games/meets. Swim team goes until early July and after that....no sports until Autumn Soccer.

I have enjoyed being a sport mom, but am not sorry to be out of the hot sun.

And July will be filled with two weeks of Astronomy class, followed by two weeks of Math class (specializing in string theory...ugh!), so she will be plenty busy from 10-3 every day.

And then...welll....it will be August and school will start halfway through and then I will be the mother of an eighth grader.

Summers go so quickly.

You should see my garden. There is truth to the words in the song, June is Bustin' Out All Over because my garden is producing like wild fire. We already have salad fixings with lettuce, carrots, wild onions, radishes and peppers. And my peas and beans are ready to be picked so soon we will have laps filled with bowls of peas to shell and beans to snap.

Bing will make my favorite summer dinner: heirloom tomatoes drizzled with olive oil and mozzarella and sprinkled with herbs...placed in the oven and baked just a bit. This tastes incredible when there is a loaf of sourdough bread to dip into the oil too.

The television is rarely on, with the exception of Sunday nights. True Blood and the new Aaron Sorkin offering right after. Otherwise, Bing turns it to CNN to see the world news but that is it.

Summer nights are filled with soft melting sunlight spilling in through the windows while we read our books with drippy glasses of iced peppermint tea by our sides. It doesn't get dark until after 9 p.m., so we are outside a lot, sitting on our Adirondack chairs while Socks tries to catch those pesky squirrels. He eventually gives up and crawls up in a chair with me or Liv and pretends not to care that he didn't even come close to catching one. Liv or I will saunter into the garden and come out with a sweet chocolate pepper, a fistful of scallions, or one perfect big boy tomato and we will rinse it under the hose water and then eat them like apples, one bite at a time while we read or throw the ball for Socks.

We live in shorts. My favorite after work attire is a pair of comfy jean shorts and a man's shirt with the sleeves cut off. Flip flops. Or a bright yellow sundress.

There is not a lot of baking. Too hot and the air conditioners are working too hard already. So we eat lots and lots of vegetables straight from the garden. Cucumbers sliced into my mother's recipe for milk and vinegar water. Sounds dreadful, but tastes perfect. Crackers smeared with Bufala cheese. Slippery dill pickles. Salads with Dorothy Lynch salad dressing or Bing's homemade Italian. Crunchy carrot sticks and thick slices of bread with roast beef cut paper thin piled on.

Dessert is a perfect cherry popsicle, dripping all over the place and turning our lips into bright red smackers. Or, a root beer float. SOOOOO good.

We go to the farmer's market every Sunday morning to supplement what bounty we already have. Nice fat purple eggplant for Bing to slice and then slide under the broiler with cheese.

Can you tell it's almost dinner time here on the prairie?

I'm off now until next week, still on vacation...so will spend the rest of the week catching up on your blogs. I've missed them so.....

How is your summer goin? How do you spend these hazy days?

Warning...

Today, Liv asked me if I had a blog. I was surprised. She's never asked me about it, never seemed even slightly interested. When I told her yes and asked her why she asked, she admitted that her cousin, Lindsay told her that she'd gone online while I was away on vacation and read my blog and "visited" some of the people listed on my blog roll.

I wasn't too shocked or upset. I mean, ALL of my sisters know that I have a blog (I originally started it for them...I was weary of having to answer all of their e-mails and finally just told them that if they wanted to know what was new with me, to check out my blog....they all did but none of them stayed long, I think they found it boring and upsetting in turn...none of them have visited in months...) and I wouldn't have minded if they told their children. I really don't have many secrets and while I don't relish them reading the romantic bits that I write about Bing, I don't regard anything I write as off limits. I pretty much just lay it out there.

What bothered me was that Lindsay had to use my password to get into my blog. And I didn't give it to her. So...she hunted it down somehow. There is no way she could have guessed my password, it's an acronym of a sentence mantra that I say to myself when I am trying to hold my temper...so basically, just a bunch of weird vowels and consonants that don't fit. And I have never written it down. When Bing goes online to check my analytics to see what my blog stalker is up to, she has to ask me what my password is because she always forgets.

Not sure how Lindsay got in, but it bothers me that she did. It's just....invasive. There wasn't anything I am ashamed of, embarrassed by, etc. Just my blog and bookmarks of let's see....Lee DeWyze's twitter, a literary board I read and other things like my library account.

And our savings and checking accounts. IRA. Liv's college fund. Our emergency savings in case something really awful happens and we need a big sum of money quickly. Our stocks and bonds.

So, I had Bing check things out today and it looks like the only thing Lindsay snooped into was my blog and then...she only stayed on for about an hour, but she did read several blogs on my roll. Not sure if she used my name to comment, I'm guessing not.

And that was it. She didn't go into our money accounts or check out Lee's twitter (and why the fuck not????)

I told Liv that she could check out my blog anytime and she said she thought she'd pass. But...we'll see. When I became very ill a couple of years ago, I started using my blog as a sort of diary for Liv to read when she is older....in case I am not here. So, really...I don't mind if she reads it. She did ask me what I wrote about and I just shrugged and said something about just writing about my life, events, etc. She gave me that incredulous look that teens give their parents. Sort of like what the hell ever happens to YOU that's interesting?

I think that she might be surprised. And I do hope that she reads the blog sometime in the future and think that when she reaches the right age, she will.

But, I'm not sure how to handle Lindsay. As I said, I could care less if she read the blog...but how did she get my password and WHY did she snoop? This is what bothers me the most, I suppose. That she invaded my privacy without permission.

How would you handle this? Any ideas? She was a good house/child/dog sitter in almost every other way. My car does have a lingering cigarette smell even though Liv said that she only saw her smoke a few times and it was always out on the back steps. But, that's it. The house was in neat order. The garden weeded and watered well. Child and dog well cared for. She is 21 years old.

So....should I just let this go? Or.....say something? What do you think?

I could have danced all night but there's no place like home

"So, tell me about your daughter. How old is she?"

We were on the flight home from vacation, Bing knackered out next to me, hopped down by a pain pill. Her legs were invading my space, but I didn't say anything. When that pain pill wore off, her back would be screaming. So, since I was stuck in the middle, I'd been haphazardly conversing with the little old lady next to me. When she'd sat down next to me initially, I'd just been glad that she was tiny. On the flight to Louisiana, I had been stuck next to a Michael Jordan type with bad b.o. LONG legs and tall to boot.

I smiled at her. How to describe Liv. I'd already performed the litmus test by briefly introducing her to Bing as my partner and she'd passed with flying colors. I'd also mentioned that we were on our way home from a just-us vacation and that my daughter and niece would be picking us up. (And said niece was very cranky niece now. She had anticipated a fun week or so with Liv and got an up close and personal look at parenting. This included driving Liv to her 7 a.m. swim practice every week day, her evening softball practices and the meets and games during the week. Her basketball clinic. Her astronomy class. Also dog walking. Making meals (although I left ample cash for take out) and driving Liv to her friend's homes and enduring long afternoons of supervising their trips to the zoo, a college world series game, and keeping the house picked up. Her last text to me was: Life at your house is a constant "hurry up and wait"...I take Liv to her practices, meets, whatever and then have to wait for her to get done.)

I decided to describe Liv physically first and then go from there:

"She's tall for her age, nearly 5'7 and has long honey blonde hair that's nearly to her waist now. During the summer, her hair becomes streaked with light blonde highlights that no salon can quite rival. Neither her father nor I have much blonde in our families with the exception of my sister, Celia and a great Aunt who was also blonde. In every other way, though, she is her father's daughter. He's a full Lakota Indian and she has this mix of his dark olive skin and my Irish peaches and cream. She has his dark brown eyes and his flat footed gait. She will be 13 next month but is a very young 13. She hasn't developed any curves or breasts yet and isn't boy crazy at all. She is the lone girl of 18 students in her basketball clinic and that doesn't faze her at all. She views boys as people, not date material. She prefers boy partners in her science labs at school because she says that she wearies easily of the girls and their affected performances of being squeamish when all they really want is a boy to tease them about it.

She is a tireless reader, but not much into fiction as I was. If she does read fiction, she likes a lot of action or science fiction. She was nuts for The Hunger Games series. She likes books about scientific discoveries or biographies of famous scientists or mathematicians. In fact, she excels at all of her math and science classes in school and struggles with English. She is the opposite of me. She actually likes learning about how to diagram a sentence and dislikes any sort of creative writing. This makes her sound stiff and/or masculine, I know, but she isn't at all. She has a secret crush on this all boy band, can't remember their name now, but she has their poster hanging up in her bedroom along with Einstein's face and the Apple poster about how people who are square pegs in round holes are the most interesting. She occasionally likes to dress up in very girlish clothes, but no bows or frills. She likes her fashion a bit edgy with clean lines. Sort of a mash up of early Madonna meets Jackie Kennedy.

Liv is a lot like me personality-wise. She is quiet in crowds, doesn't say much, but takes everything in. She has a very dry wit and can be sarcastic at times. Just the other day, one of her friend's mothers and I were talking about our daughters and she said, 'Liv can be hard to get a read on. She is very aloof, very pragmatic on the surface but I suspect that she feels things on a very deep level.'

Fucking bingo. "

Okay, I didn't say fucking but I thought it.

Then my seat mate went on about her late husband and how he was a firefighter and they never took vacations for just them and what a mistake that was since he was so stressed out that he frequently had nightmares.

"I think some alone time would have made both of us better partners and parents," she concluded.

We talked a bit more until she said she was getting sleepy and she shut her eyes and in the way of the elderly, was out of it in less than 30 seconds.

I couldn't sleep, one of my legs was cramped from the dead weight of Bing's sleep laden leg next to it. So, I pulled out my phone and looked at photos.

It had been a fun week. Bing's Uncle Henri and Aunt Eugenie seemed to understand in an intrinsic way that we needed a lot of privacy and gave it to us generously. Except for one day when Uncle Henri took me birdwatching and another fishing, we were pretty much left alone until our last night there when they held a fais do-do for us.

It had been a relaxing week. We slept. A lot. This was tempered by short walks and very gentle sex. One wonderful night, we sat naked in our cabin and watched the movie, Shaun of the Dead while eating bowls of homemade vanilla ice cream brought over and placed in our freezer for us to find by Aunt Eugenie while we were out walking. Ice cream with tiny, delicious flecks of vanilla bean in it. Creamy as all get out.

From now on, we have a new phrase to add to our private couple word phrases that make us burst out laughing stash. It is:

She's soooo drunk!



Another night, as we sat on the deck drinking icy cold ginger ale, we debated going skinny dipping. Our cabin was directly on Lake Pontchartrain. We had almost dared each other into doing it when we heard the flat slap of tail on water and decided that maybe we weren't interested in being 'gator appetizer, so changed our minds. We also learned to keep our doors and windows shut tightly after the cabin dwellers a mile down from us woke up to find a baby alligator nestled in their fireplace.

I read four books. One day, I read for five hours straight, something I can't recall doing since before Liv was born. I took sun dappled walks by myself in the woods with my sun hat firmly tied in place, slathered in sun block. I kept finding subjects that were perfect to blog about but confess that I was secretly happy to keep my promise not to blog while on vacation.

Bing and I laid around happily, two slugs in a rug. Talked. Didn't talk. I'd read and she worked her Sudoku puzzles and occasionally, we'd reach across and hold hands briefly until one of needed to turn a page or write. It was peaceful. The fridge was full when we arrived and we only ventured out to eat at a restaurant once during our stay and that was when we went with Uncle Henri and Aunt Eugenie to a place famous for their crawfish etouffee, which is Bing's biggest food weakness. I had a po-boy and mint tea punch and afterwards we all dived into pineapple rum cake. We almost had to roll home, we were that full.

Luzette (Uncle Henri and Aunt Eugenie's cook) came over occasionally and left surprises for us on the kitchen table: fried green tomatoes, gumbo and bread pudding. One morning, after Uncle Henri and I went fishing at the crack of dawn (I kid you not, he awakened me at 3:45 a.m!) and brought home catfish, she made us all blackened catfish and oven fried potatoes with a drink called "absinthe suissesse" to drink. Bing had FOUR servings and I had THREE drinks. When I asked Luzette what was in them, she shrugged but admitted that "the secret is not to be chintzy with the orange flower water."

She brought over hot beignets and made coffee with chicory for us almost every single day unless we slept past noon and then well....that was our loss, wasn't it?

The night before we left to come home, there was a typical Cajun fais do-do held for us at the main house and I ate a burnt sugar brownie with pecan icing and drank one too many Ramos gin fizzes and had to sit out much of the dancing. Bing spent most of the night stretched out in the hammock, said that it made her back feel better.  It was a sultry night and I felt as if I could live in my sundress and ballet flats forever.

But, I was ready to go. More than ready. As much as I love Louisiana living, I was missing Liv. Lindsay (pouty niece) kept sending me photos on my phone of her and I was one giant ache that got worse with each photo.

She sent me a photo of Liv's hand touching the pool wall as she placed first in the breast stroke at her swim meet. That had been one of her goals this summer, to place first, something that she could never seem to attain. Well, she finally did it and I wasn't there to see it, wasn't there to catch her as she came leaping with joy out of the water, splashing cold water all over me. Lindsay sent on a close up of her joyous face and it brought me to tears.

Somehow, texting I AM SO PROUD OF YOU!!!! just wasn't the same as being there.

And, Lindsay sent me a streaming video of Liv pitching a player to strike out.

A photo of Liv and her friend, Lei, smiling with their arms around each other at the college world series.

Each photo/video left me bereft and missing her more and more.

I'd pass my phone to Bing to have a look and she'd smile and look at me carefully, saying "You miss her, I know, hon."

One night, as we channel surfed, Bing commented about the upcoming Summer Olympics in London. "Remember the last one when Liv had just turned 9? When we kept saying how WEIRD it would be for her to be 13 for the next one? Well, now...just think. She'll be 17 for the next one. Can you imagine our Liv as an almost senior in high school?"

Five more years and she'll be gone. Well, probably not forever. But, once you start college, your life at home is pretty much done. You come home for holidays and some vacation, but your eyes are turned to your future, your present life, which is not at home. I know this. And I can hardly bear to think about it.

I said as much to Bing and she smiled indulgently.

"Hon, the whole parenting process is about raising them up and then letting them go...."

I KNOW. I KNOW. But no one told me that it would be so hard to let her go. Or even to think about it. Some of you readers and friends are having a small chuckle now, I know. One of my friends who had teenagers told me that she is convinced that the teenaged years are designed to make you glad that they are LEAVING your home soon. That when her kids turned 15, they turned into little asshats and she was thrilled when they left for college. But, then....when they were 25, they became endearing wonderful people again.

I'm already feeling Liv beginning to chafe at the parental bindings and I get it and am determined to not be one of those dumb helicopter parents who can't let their children leave the nest.

I foresee lots of lots of tears in my bathtub over this. Alone. Where no one can see me aching for Liv. But, as god as my witness...I will NEVER let her know how much it will hurt. I want her to fly, no...I want her to SOAR. And only look back in happiness, not in guilt or worry.

Finally, when Lindsay sent me a photo of Liv sitting outside on an Adirondack chair, asleep with Socks across her lap and a book fallen by the side with the caption: 8 o'clock on a Friday and Liv is worn out from her active life.........well....I decided I needed to come home.

We had deliberately kept our return home day fluid. We could stay for up to 10 days, but ended up coming home after 7. Bing said that she was ready to return, she had a summer class to prepare to teach at the university and although I think she was lying, I was grateful. She wasn't really ready to go home yet, but she could see my mothering side aching.

I called Lindsay to tell her that we'd be home on Sunday. She admitted that she was glad, although she'd prepared to stay another week if we needed her.

"I had no idea that Liv was still so much work," she commented. "I mean, it's not like she's a toddler anymore and she's very well behaved, but good god...she has a LOT of activities," she said.

And then, she went on to tell me that she thought that Liv was missing me too.

"She told me that she missed you," she said, "but she also said to not tell you, that she didn't want to sound like a baby."

When the plane touched down, I was ready to be home. Bing, wincing, stood up and limped out after me through the airplane corridor. We got on the elevator to go down to baggage claim and then I saw her.

My Liv. Her blonde hair down and falling to her waist, held back by a small plain red head band. Wearing jean shorts, flip flops and a tee shirt sporting a Florida gator logo. She was standing next to her cousin, my niece, Lindsay and they were both laughing at something on Lindsay's phone. A teenaged boy walked by and gave her the once over, which she didn't notice at all. Then she looked up and caught my eye and before her almost teenaged lazy grin took over her face, it flashed with  little girl glee. She was excited to see me. Her mama.

I put down my bags, held out my arms and she hesitated for just a second and then she came flying into them.

She's here for now, I thought. She's still here for now. Enjoy.

And I did.

Glad to be home.
 

See you on the flip side....

Bing and I are headed for a "just us" vacation. We are flying to Louisiana to stay in a log cabin by the bayou. It is owned by her relatives and nearby their plantation where we vacationed  last year. So, we plan to lollygag and do a lot of sleeping and recuperating her back and my swollen joints.

It does have a/c....so I sort of like that it isn't as rustic as it could be. But, that is just fine with me. I've got a bag of books and my ipad and Bing has hers. No television. This upsets Bing more than me. Bing's uncle has promised to take me birdwatching and her aunt will be sending over mouth watering food daily, she says.

And we can visit all those dear relatives who made our stay in Louisiana so wonderful so many months ago.

Liv has swim team and a softball tourney, so she will be staying home and my 21 year old niece will be keeping a eye on her and driving her around. House sitting, dog sitting, and babysitting...although Liv refuses to call it that. She prefers the term, hanging together.

I'm a little annoyed at how excited Liv is that we are LEAVING......and I have told her many times that I want to come home to a well tended garden. She says she will take good care of my baby vegetables.

Mostly, we just want to sleep and relax. We sound like a couple of old ladies. When her uncle sent us photos of the cabin, we both commented on how good the bed looked....and the fireplace, and the shiny plank floors.

Mostly I just want to rest. I want to be somewhere that I have nothing expected of me. No work hours, no drives to swim or softball practice, no dog to walk, no games (even though Liv is turning into a hugely talented pitcher...)....just....us time.

I think we deserve it.

See you on the flip side. Maybe four days, maybe a week, maybe ten days....I've taken twelve vacation days just in case....

If we get bored or lonesome, we will come back early. If we can't bear to return, we may send for Liv and just move in.....

Peace. It sounds so peaceful. I am ignoring the voices in my head that keep telling me that I will miss Liv's softball tourney and her swim meets....

I just want to be alone with my partner and sleep until noon everyday. Sit out on a rocker on the porch by the water and watch the moon. Let total relaxation just seep into my tired bones.

Eat good southern food, gain ten pounds and not give a fuck. 

Hear those lilting southern accents rising and falling softly around me.

Find my muse again.

Same tune, 4 years later or peeing my pants again

About four years ago, I wrote a blog post about the time I waited too long to go to the bathroom and ended up peeing my pants at the doctor's office when my zipper got stuck in a restroom.

That was in January of 2008 and was so humiliating that you'd think I would have learned something, yes?

Apparently not.

Or maybe I should just give in and buy pants with velcro or snaps.

Today, I wore pair of nice linen slacks to work. Beige. They had kind of a snazzy little tie at the top.

You're laughing already, I can sense it.

So, I go to work. The air conditioning wasn't high enough and I was sweating like a pig like a dainty lady. I ate lunch at my desk, eating my yogurt and drinking lots and lots of diet soda to help cool off.

I had a 1:20 appointment. I kinda sorta had to pee right before they came, but figured I would just hold it. By the time they left at 2:30, I had to pee like a race horse urinate quite a lot. And of course that was the day that chatty Mary was in the bathroom. As I sprinted into the women's room, there she was washing her hands at the sink.

"How are you doing? I haven't seen you in so long!" she said, smiling hugely. Now, Mary is a fine person, a nice person. But, she talks. And talks. I said something banal like I was fine and tried to slip into a stall. But, she sort of nicely blocked me.

"And how is that darling little girl of yours?" she went on. "Is she on the swim team this year?"

Oh, great...right...talk about big bodies of WATER.

I said yes she was and that I was sorry, but I really had to go to the bathroom.

Her eyes went wide.

"Oh, of course!" she said, and politely moved.

I practically ran into the stall and then...

you know what  is coming.

I could NOT get that little knot at the top of my slacks untied. It seemed to just cinch tighter the harder that I tried. I doubled over, crossing my legs.

I knew I had ten seconds or less before niagara fell.

It did.

Fall.

Yes, I wet my pants. At work.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I managed to get the tie undone about half way through my peeing and yanked my pants down and sat.

I really should have worked harder at doing my kegel muscle exercises. Then, perhaps...I could have held it back.

But,no dice.

And I was wearing a very short jacket and top.

I was in deep shit.

So, I did what I hated doing. I called out to chatty Mary, who also can be called gossipy Mary.

She was still washing her hands, probably waiting for me to talk more.

And I asked her politely to go in my office and ask one of the secretaries to please grab my old raincoat out of the closet and um...bring it to me.

There was a short silence and then she said (rather stiffly), "Oh, my goodness. Of course. One momento!"

She came back with the rain coat.....and our office manager, Milagros.

I opened the door a crack and nabbed the coat and put it on before I came out.

And then...and oh how I detested doing this.......I came out and stood before Mary and Milagros in my raincoat.

Mary looked bewildered. Milagros looked like she was two breaths away from bursting out laughing.

I gestured at the stall and said something totally idiotic about having a little accident in the stall.

And then Mary's eyes widened hugely and she nodded with sage wisdom.

"Oh," she said, "your Aunt Flo came to visit and surprised you, huh?"

Because I haven't had a period in over four years, it took me a moment to realize what she meant and then I just smiled meekly and nodded. Better for her to think that my period came early than that I was such a dumb ass that I actually peed my pants at my age.

Milagros was tongue in cheek now, struggling to not laugh.

Mary leaned over and gave me a very light hug. She didn't want to get too close to all that menstrual blood now did she? She said that she best get back to work and we nodded.

And then Milagros shook her head at me and gave me a sly look.

"Maria, seriously? You actually WET your pants?"

I sheepishly nodded, explained about the knot.

"Ok," she said. "Well, you learned a good lesson. One that I am currently trying to teach my four year old son. It doesn't pay to HOLD IT TOO LONG, does it?"

I shook my head no.

We walked back to the office. I told Nanette that I was feeling ill and she needed to cancel my 3:15 appointment. She was thrilled, knowing that this meant that she would go home early today too.

I grabbed my purse, some reports to work on in the evening, and found a big black trash bag in the supply cabinet to sit on as I drove home. I absolutely did not want a pee smell to permeate my car in way.

And then I called Bing and told her that I was coming home early. She asked why. I said it was a long story. Silence.

So, I told her. Yes, I informed my spouse that I had peed my pants at work.

To her credit, she didn't laugh. She just told me to drive carefully home and not speed.

And when I arrived home, she looked sweetly at me from downturned lashes.

"How's my little pants wetter doing?" she asked.

I scowled, told her that unless she wanted me to blog about the time she got diarrhea at work, she needed to let this go NOW. She nodded, but smiled and looked away.

My once lovely linen slacks are now sitting in a plastic bag to take to the dry cleaners tomorrow. I feel terrible about this. I can't imagine how gross it would be to open up a bag and take out a dried pee smelling pair of pants. Oh, well...as Bing says, I'm sure they've seen worse.

And I swear here and now that I will NEVER buy another pair of slacks with a tie top. Nothing tricky for this old relic. Maybe I should just take all my clothes to a tailor and have Velcro put on or snaps.

So, consider this a cautionary tale, dudes.

If you have to pee....DO NOT try to hold it. There is a bad scene just waiting to happen one day. Or, if you are like me, it will take it to happen TWICE in five years before you learn your lesson.

I'm just hoping that Milagros doesn't rib about this mercilessly at work. Let's see....I need to think of something that I have on her. Hmmm. How about that time that she had a booger sitting on the side of her nose and no one said anything until I took her aside and gently pointed it out.

There. Got it. She calls me pee queen, I call her booger girl.

Turnabout is fair play.......

TMI or no, I don't want to hear that you view porn

Bing can no longer mow our lawn and it pains her greatly. Yes, she was one of those people who love to mow the yard. She said she felt like it gave her a great work out.

So, we hired a guy from our neighborhood who is newly retired and stir crazy.

He does a great job and I like him a lot....except that he will talk your ear off, so I generally just wave at him and run in the house if I see him.

But Bing talks to him frequently and yesterday she came in and said to set an extra place for dinner, that Jensen was staying for dinner. I did that. We grilled hamburgers, steamed corn on the cob (or as we call it on the prairie: roastin' ears), and I made a big salad. Bing had made a blueberry cobbler for dessert.

So, Jensen came in and we were all visiting. It was nice. As dinner was winding down, Jensen said that he guessed he should get back to the lawn, that he and his wife, Ellen were scheduled to visit a homebound woman from their church. They are very big in their church and Jensen was an electrician, so does lots of work for them pro bono.

Bing said it was her turn to do the dishes. Liv piped up that she didn't get to take turns, that she was always the "helper." Bing commented that this was called earning one's keep and we all laughed. I said that I planned to go work on my blog.

And then Jensen said, "I'm not allowed to use the computer anymore. My wife caught me looking at big boobed women and that was it...no more computer for me."

Bing, Liv and I just stood there, silent.

I think we were stunned.

And then, as if on cue, we all started moving around quickly. Goodbyes were said. Jensen went out to finish up the lawn.

Bing, Liv and I looked at each and laughed.

But, you know....I don't think it is all that funny now. Because every time I look at this sweet old guy mowing our lawn...I picture him porn browsing.

And it bothers me. I know that it is common for men to look at porn, but like most women, I find it totally baffling.

Still....every time I see him and smile and wave, I have this picture in my head.

So...I won't be judgmental, promise.

Do you or yours look at porn? Am I big prude?

Stuck in a whirlpool tub with 4 annoying women.

So, we've been going to the gym for broken people at night when I get off work. Which is when everyone else seems to want to go too. Bummer.

I usually do the warm water pool for 5 minutes, the regular pool for 20 and then back to the warm pool for 5 more minutes. Unfortunately, I couldn't do the warm water today because it was stuffed full of people, many of them older and some of them men with extremely hairy backs.

I know it is wrong, but hairy backed men make me feel like I might throw up. Especially this one older guy who is about as short as I am but almost as wide as he is tall. And he is extremely hairy. AND has gross feet. Toenails so yellow that I avert my gaze.

I tell myself that this is rude. There are a lot of older people here and this is what I probably will be like in twenty years, well...minus the back hair, I hope.

But, it just bugs me.

So, I stayed in the regular pool where the serious swimmers are, although I am not really a serious swimmer. Bing decided that she was going to try and swim but only made it one lap before she had to stop, her face contorted in pain. I am so sad for her. She used to work out every single day and love it. She ran every morning and loved to bike on the weekends. Now, she is a water walker and looks very, very intent on healing.

So..after the pool, I hit the whirlpool tub. Which I love and Bing dislikes. I was alone for maybe two minutes before four woman friends all got in with me. Which I did not love. But, we pay to be there and the emphasis is on good will and sharing, so I smiled prettily.

They were all in their 70's. All extremely overweight. Now, I am not Anna Pacquin. I don't rock a hot bod or make heads turn. But, these women were obese. And they all came down the steps to the whirlpool and all I could think was that I truly did not want them to fall on me. And they didn't. But, they did squish me. One woman's arm kept touching mine and I hated that. I felt totally squished. And then, I wasn't sure if I could get past them to get out of the tub, so I just sat politely thinking that perhaps they would leave soon.

They didn't. So, I listened in on their conversation. And they did try to include me at first. One asked what I did for a living and I told her and then she had to tell me that her husband was a doctor too and then the other ladies all piped up that he had been the one to sign their forms to get in to this place!

Wasn't that nice? they said.

No.

And then one of them had to share how she and her husband recently bought a little house in Italy so that they could have someplace for everyone to go if their kids needed a vacation house. Also, they thought it might be fun to go there and have Christmas all together. But..it only had four bedrooms, alas...and might not be big enough for their children and grandchildren and then someone would feel left out.

What is a filthy rich grandmother to do?

I felt like I was in the absolute wrong place. But then they started talking about their cars and of course, they were all luxury ones. And one spoke about how they had recently replaced their automatic lawn sprinklers, bought ones that were humidity sensitive. Ones that could tell by the humidity in the air and the moistness of the earth whether to run that day or not.

I drive an older car and although we do have an automatic sprinkler, it was put in in 1976 and is on her last legs. Plus it is psycho. It sometimes starts up without warning (like when I am gardening...that is SO fun!) or refuses to start at all unless Bing tinkers with it.

And, unfortunately, we don't have a home in Italy to escape to when life gets us a little grouchy.

I had to get out of there now.

I stood up and tried to inch my way around their bodies. One lady chuckled a little bit as I accidentally stepped on her puffy foot. Forgive me for saying this, but I swear that she sounded exactly like Jabba The Hut. I found my way around them finally and left.

I went to the dry heat room and sat carefully on the warm bench. Ahhh. But then, since it is  right next to the whirlpool, I could still hear them.

I closed my eyes. Jabba One of the women started talking about her cook and maid. Apparently one is hispanic and the other black. And they are both prone to being lazy, according to her.

"But what am I to do?" she said. "If you say anything, complain...they pull that infernal race card."

I sat there thinking that I wished I had slammed my foot down HARD on hers when I was getting out. See if that makes that Jabba laugh bubble up to the surface.

It got worse. I won't elaborate. Just imagine sitting at my family's dinner table on Thanksgiving with my racist brother in law and there you go.

I got up and headed to take my shower. On the way, I stopped at the spa and told them that I had heard them talking in the dry heat room and they made me nauseated.

"I am really uncomfortable with your racist remarks," I said, and then because I am only a little brave, I stalked off. Of course this didn't pack quite the punch that I planned since my towel suddenly came undone and I had to clutch it around me before I was naked. So, it wasn't as saucy as I would have liked.

I went to the shower and took a long, soapy hot one.

I've never met anyone like these women before at this place. Maybe they just come to sit in the whirlpool together every week and try to one up each other.

By the time I met Bing at the car, I was steamed. I told her what those women had said and she smiled and shook her head.

"Honey, there are bad apples in every group," she said. "But, I'm glad you said something."

It wasn't enough, though. I know that. I should have said more. But, you know...we never say enough, do we?

We need to say more. And next time, I promise...I will.

I don't want to have a coward's soul. And you know...it just occurred to me that I had no business commenting on their weight either.

I am just as guilty of prejudice. Just a different kind. It shouldn't matter one bit if those women were fat or not.

And hairy backs? Like that guy can help it?

Maybe I need to take a long hard look in the mirror, yes?

More ipad fun....or my future for June

Rules: Easy peasy. Just put your ipad on shuffle and answer the questions in this order when the songs come up. I dare you to just do one or two if you don't want to jump in for the whole thing.

1) What will your love life be like during the first part of June?

Jersey by Mayday Parade....um...we're going to Jersey? How about Hawaii instead?

2) What will your love life by like during the last part of June?

Speak Now by Taylor Swift.  I tend to have no problems speaking my mind.

3) Family life in June.

Unsent by Alanis Morissette.....yes, there is always a lot that I don't say....

4) Other family life....family that doesn't live with you.

Eat For Two by 10,000 Maniacs. Who's pregnant?

5) Eating habits in June.

This Shirt by Mary Chapin Carpenter.....I've been trying to cut back but seriously hope that I don't end up eating that shirt.

6) Workplace in June.

Long Tall Sally by The Beatles...we do need to hire a new translator since our last one resigned....I have no problems with a long tall Sally.

7) Getting along with friends in June.

Ventura Highway by America.  We could use a road trip. And California sounds perfect.

8) What your co-workers will think of you this month.

House At Pooh Corner by Kenny Loggins.  That's us. We are more like the office on Farnam St. But...close enough. Unless they think I am childish...

9) What you think of your co-workers this month

Forever Love by Dennis John Massa.  Well, I wouldn't go THAT far. I do like them....

10) What your sex life will be like in June.

The Cave by Mumford and Sons. We do like to cloister ourselves off. Or maybe...be like cave women? That works. Been a long time since we got down all wild and crazy.

11) What your arguments with spouse will be like in June.

Carolina In The Pines by Michael Martin Murphey.  So THAT'S her name. Bitch.

12) What strangers think of you when they walk by you in June.

Sex On Fire by Kings of Leon. Of course. I do have that aura. Cha cha cha. Y'all want me. I know it.

13) Weekends in June.

Sweet Serendipity by Lee DeWyze.  Sounds fine to me.

14) Name five important people in your life. This song describes your June with them.

Bing: If This Was A Movie by Taylor Swift.

Par for the course. If this was a movie, she'd have bought me a new car by now. Or booked us a flight to Cancun.

Liv: Building A Mystery by Sarah McLachlan. She is an absolute mystery to me these days.

Tinton: Since You've Been Around by Rosie Thomas.  Yes, things have been so much better since you came around. Thanks.

Harriet : Cocaine by Eric Clapton.  Oh, dear. I thought we were just going to do a bowl. Cocaine? I can't do that. I have only did it twice in my life and both times I was ridiculously vain and acted like a true diva. I think I told you about the time that I tried to seduce that bus boy who didn't speak English. Cocaine at my age would be just plain disgusting. Harriet, no. Just no.

Nirand: Sweet Baby James by James Taylor.  You are sweet. You are younger than me by far. But, no. You are not James. But you are sort of like a young cowboy.

Ok. Your turn. Pick up your ipad. Shuffle.

What is June going to be like for you?

You went and grew up on me

When you were three, it felt like we were stuck in a time warp or something and you'd be a toddler forever.

And sometimes I liked that feeling and sometimes not.

The weird thing? Now that you are nearly a teenager, the things that I miss the most are the things that used to just exhaust me when you were little.

I think I made about ten million grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup. That was one of your favorite meals and it was easy and even I couldn't wreck it, so we had that a lot. Now, I can't remember the last time that I made you anything. You can do everything for yourself.

Remember green eggs and ham? On days when you were grumpy or not feeling great, I always made you green eggs and ham for breakfast. Green food dye. In your scrambled eggs and dabbed across canadian bacon. You never once failed to be totally charmed by my immense talents.

Now, it is harder to get your praise.

You are taller than me by 6 inches. I feel as if you tower over me. So, no...you don't crawl into my lap anymore. Sometimes, rarely...you put your head on my shoulder and when that happens, the world just sort of stops for me as I breathe you in.

I used to get so tired of carrying you, holding you. You were always so skinny, such a bony child. All elbows and knees. In crowds, you sought my lap, your head found it's way into the crook of my shoulder, hiding. Now, you lope around with your friends everywhere, crowds don't faze you a bit.

I used to get so tired of brushing your hair and braiding it. For one thing, you had the most sensitive head on the planet and if I brushed through one snarl, your eyes would tear up and you'd look at me with such incredulity, how unbelievable it was to you that I could actually hurt you like that. We used a lot of conditioner back then. And that no more tears spray, I think we went through a bottle per week.

Now, your hair is down to your waist, straight and golden with light blonde streaks. People go to hair salons to get hair just like yours. And I don't think I've brushed your hair or braided it in over a year.

You are still without curves or real breasts and I am relieved. You seem to be leaving your childhood behind in big leaps and when you start getting curves and breasts, it will be like the last farewell.

I know this sounds whiny, but as much as I like the person you are now, I sorely miss your baby self. I miss the way your eyes would follow me from your baby seat propped up on the kitchen table. I would walk around cleaning up the kitchen and your brown eyes would watch me with such adoration. I felt like Meryl Streep or something, a celebrity. When I would come close to you and lean down to kiss your bowed little lips, your arms would reach out and grab me, clutching me closer, closer.

I was your favorite person in the whole world, hands down.

Now, sometimes I feel as if I am only real to you when you need a ride somewhere or money.

You don't even ask my help with homework anymore, you have it all figured out yourself or you go online to that site that helps. Or ask Bing if it is math. Or call a friend and puzzle it out together.

My opinion used to really, really matter to you. I used to pick out your clothes without consulting you! I did this up until about two years ago and then you suddenly seemed to develop very picky opinions about clothes.

No frills of any kind.

Pink and purple were no longer your go to colors. Now, you like tans, beiges, browns. Tee shirts with sayings on them. Retro bands that you aren't really familiar with but I remember like Jethro Tull and Alice Cooper. The other day you had on a Nirvana tee shirt and I said something about how I once saw Kurt Cobain and Nirvana in concert when they weren't even popular yet and you smiled politely and said something like Oh, that's interesting and after that I haven't seen you wear that shirt again. It's as if my liking it jinxed it for you.

I am terrified that you will rebel against me and turn into a Republican. Please, Liv...I beg you. Don't do that to me. Be a Libertarian or an Independent if you don't want to follow in my liberal Democrat steps.

When I wore my bathing suit at the gym the other day, you looked at me and then looked away, shaking your head and smiling. When I asked you what was up, you said, "It's just that your bathing suit looks kind of funny on someone your age."

I was stung. Really stung. Jaysus. It wasn't like I was wearing a thong bikini. It was a one piece suit! What did you want me to wear? Something with a little skirt, maybe? Or a swimming dress like they wore in the 1880's? And last week when you came bouncing out of your room and I pointed out that we were both in our Chuck Taylors, you just smiled.

And then when we left the house to take you to a friends house, I noticed that you'd changed from your Chucks to some Keds sneakers.

I'm not an idiot. I know that at your age it is important for you to assert your individuality but can I just admit that it bothers me when you do that? The Liv I knew for most of your life would have been happy if we dressed like mother/daughter twins. You used to beg me to kiss you on the lips when I'd drop you off at school so that you could have some of my lipstick on you. And you thought that careening around in my high heels was the most fun thing to do in the world.

Now, I am suddenly your mother who is old and has really archaic opinions and not someone that you want to emulate in dress.

You haven't gotten mouthy yet. Not like some of my friend's kids. And for that, I am glad. But, sometimes I get the feeling that you are mouthing off to me in your head, which is exactly what I used to do with MY mother. I knew that if I sassed her, I would be slapped and/or grounded, so I would go up into my bedroom and whisper all my insults at her to the wall. I suspect that you do that with me.

But, I am so much NICER than my mother was, Liv. Truly. My mother never used to talk to me on car trips. She'd turn on this horrid radio program called Good mornin', Ladies! It was a local radio station program that catered to farm wives. I thought it was ridiculous. I listen to NPR, Liv. That is SO not ridiculous.

When I come into your bedroom to say goodnight, you are usually sweet and warm and just a little bit huggy.  But, I don't crawl into your bed with you anymore to snuggle or read. And if I did, I suspect that this would bother you a great deal.

I miss those long lazy summer afternoons with you when you were a little girl. And you know...I remember those summers as being extremely long some days. I remember feeling that if I had to read one more chapter of Harry Potter or play one more game of Chutes and Ladders, I would lose what was left of my mind.

And I hated the fact that you seemed to need me to play Barbies with you in the bathtub all the time. You had this game where you lined up all your Barbies and pretended that they were diving in the Olympics. There was that one blonde Barbie with that awful turned up nose and slutty eyeliner that neither one of us liked much. You often had her do belly flops and we would look at each other and shake our heads pitifully at her lack of skill. We both really liked the brunette one best and her dives were always so swanlike and graceful. She usually won. But, truthfully? I got SO sick of those bathtub olympics.

Now, I am not allowed to even come in when you are in the shower or taking a bath and I get it. You are almost thirteen and being naked in front of anyone is horrifying.

Remember that chamomile tea that I always made for you with milk at night? I made it mostly because it made you sleepy and on some nights, I just really needed for you to go to sleep so that I could read a magazine and have a gin and tonic and just be by myself. I felt sometimes that you were like one of my arms. So much a part of me. And sometimes I craved privacy. Even going to the bathroom alone was a luxury. I can't tell you how many times I held you on my lap as I peed or yes, pooped. Because you could not stand to be without me for even a few minutes. If I did shut the door and you were stuck on the other side of it, I would see your fingers snaking under it, wiggling at me and you would ask me to sing so that you knew I was still there. So there I would be, sitting on the toilet and singing Oh my darling, Oh my darling...Oh my darling Clementine... and closing my eyes and counting the minutes until your naptime. 


Now, you never interrupt me just because you miss me. You interrupt because you need a ride or need to ask me if Molly can sleep over. 


And when you are gone, I miss you. I don't think you miss me, Liv. But, we've changed places because now a house without you in it seems strangely empty to me. 


I am so proud of you, Liv and I love you so much, but I am slowly learning to love you more from afar now. 


Like at your game last week when you were up to bat and I yelled out, "Go, Livvy Pie!" You looked over at me with this incredulous look as if I had just yelled, "Yo, Livvy! Has your period started yet?"
And then in the car on the way home, you asked me to please not shout out encouragement to you, that it made you feel embarrassed. I promised not to. But, it's hard not to yell, Liv. I want the world to know you are mine. 


But, yes. I will shut up. Promise. 


And then just when I think that all the tenderness between us is fading away, I will be in bed reading and you will crawl in with your book and smile and say you just want to read together for a while. So we read, each silently, with your toes sometimes seeking mine and a pause now and then to smile. You let me tuck your hair behind your ear then. And I confess that I keep losing my place in my book because my eyes keep watering. I never say anything because I don't want to scare you off. Any big emotional scenes are painful for you, I know this. 


But, after you leave? I smell the place on the pillow where your head has been, breathing in your lemony scent. 


If you are ever a mother, I think you will get this. If you are never a mother, you will get this too someday. 


Liv, you went and grew up on me and I knew it was coming but it just seemed to come so fast!


I feel overwhelmed by your leaps and bounds. 


And I miss those days when you'd fall asleep in my lap as I rocked you at bedtime and I would sit there inhaling you. Sometimes, I felt like I wanted to just eat your little cheeks, your tiny feet. 


I still just want to inhale you sometimes. Okay...I have no desire to eat your feet anymore. But...if you ever feel like having me braid your hair?


I'm right here waiting.